Our roads are vi­o­let crum­bling

I need a job for about five years . . . ‘‘ No wor­ries’’ said I ‘‘ How about two?’’ ‘‘ Not long enough’’ says he ‘‘ No mate, I mean 200 years, fill­ing pot­holes! Ac­tu­ally, the first two hun­dred is just look­ing for them’’. Need­less to say, for this job you have to put ev­ery­thing into it. You knew I’d men­tion them, I bet a dozen wa­ter bills I’m not alone in the Bully to­day talk­ing pot­holes, and if you were talk­ing into them there’d be an echo. All our roads are Yasi­fied and cer­tainly many are be­gin­ning to Vi­o­let Crum­ble, and then with GPS, and now sonar, we have to nav­i­gate them the best we can. But what can we fill them with? If only the mulch was harder – we had enough of the stuff to fill in the mine in the Isa.

DID YOU ‘ beware the Ides Of March’ on Tues­day, and sen­si­bly not wear a toga to work, walk up any steps with your mates tag­ging along be­hind and look­ing dag­gers at you while hold­ing a steak knife nicked from the com­pany bar­bie. Sur­pris­ingly all went well at the Walker Street Coun­cil ‘‘ Ap­pian Way’’ as Julius Tyrell, the wa­ter rates Cae­sar, made it safely to the colos­seum ( where the ratepay­ers are thrown to the irons, to press His Mag­nif­i­cence’s toga) with­out Dal­lius Lastchan­ce­icus and Verniferus Boa­trampi­cus do­ing the dag­ger dance and tak­ing over. In facti­cus, those two pos­si­ble as­pi­rants to the throne were at the bas­ket­ball Satur­day night, and along with all of us, cheered the Crocs to vic­tory at the Cro­cos­seum. It will be packed to the Pat Rafters to­mor­row night, best get your tick­ets now, or boot the coun­cil­lors out of theirs.

I’M WON­DER­ING if our King Les gets to meet Eng­land’s Willy for a cup of English Break­fast and scones dur­ing the whole of two min­utes that he’s here. No I’m not be­ing cyn­i­cal, I know he has only three days to visit the colony, he’s a busy busy Chocolate Royal and we all un­der­stand, even though Nanna spent longer here in 54, big busy Willy can­not, and fair enough I guess, but be­ing a bit a roy­al­ist, I wish he could stay longer. He could be our Prince Of Pot­holes. Still, the size of them, Migaloo’s prob­a­bly in one . . . ahhh, so he could be the Prince Of Whales! Free Our Willy, c’mon and stay a week or so Prince Bill.

THE BOY FROM OZ premiers tonight, and it’s a magnificent show, all the hits of Peter Allen like I still call Idalia home. It’s a lim­ited sea­son and Kevin Wright is as bril­liant as ever and of course with Bill Mon­roe in charge, you will have a great night out. Even more colour­ful shirts to daz­zle . . . I won­dered where they went, I want them back Kevin.

NOT sure about these baby pic­tures Mr Ed has asked for, very hard for Ando and I as they were in a her­itage listed cave near Chilla­goe. Happy Days, see you at the Crocs to­mor­row night!